


Season 2

by notapartytrick



Series: Don't be like me, be like you [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Angst, Awkward Sexual Situations, Crossover, Cute Miles Morales, Freeform, Gay Miles Morales, Gen, Homework, Humour, M/M, Makeover, Mentioned Irondad, Miles Morales Is A Fanboy, Music, Peter Parker Has Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Is A Good Mentor, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Peter Parker, Slow Burn, Stress, Superheroes, Teenagers, Texting, Trendy Miles Morales, With Great Power Comes Great Responsibility, bereavement, unlikely friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-03-26 12:09:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19005508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notapartytrick/pseuds/notapartytrick
Summary: Miles has changed beyond recognition - still is changing, too - and, willingly or not, he's taking Peter along with him on the journey.Peter is ready to fight crime with Miles, but he's not expecting the soul-baring encounters that will come along with it.Something neither of them would have expected - even Miles, the Gayest of the Gays - might just be brewing between the unlikely pair.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all, I'm back!  
> It may have taken me longer than I thought to return to this series, but it turns out I have a life and can't spend every waking hour writing!  
> I've condensed two episodes of this season into one, so the season will be 4 episodes long instead of 5.  
> Hope you enjoy!

 

**(TRIGGER WARNING: GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION OF PANIC ATTACK)**

 

**_Webhead_ **

_Hey Miles I’ve been thinking_

_Maybe it’s time for you to start patrolling? Like for real??_

_I mean we did like 6 training sessions, you know I don’t want to rush you in or anything_

_But I mean_

_Only if you want to_

_Sorry_

_Miles?_

_miLeS_

**_Shoulder Touch_ **

_aa sorry_

_snowed under with work rn_

_isn’t it class for you?_

**_Webhead_ **

_Yeah but the teachers usually let me do whatever after I finish the work_

**_Shoulder Touch_ **

_haha lucky_

_the work never ends hereeee_

_wait you go to midtown right isn’t that like the hardest school ever_

**_Webhead_ **

_Um yes!_

**_Shoulder Touch_ **

_so you’re a child prodigy is what you’re saying_

_i wish i’m barely scraping cs_

_hhhh i gotta go_

_more class_

_oh it’s a quiz_

_rip me_

**_Webhead_ **

_Alrighty good luck with that!_

**_Shoulder Touch_ **

_WAIT_

_i missed the patrol stuff_

_am i ready to accept the responsibility???? ofc_

_take me on patrol Please_

**_Webhead_ **

_Okay okay!!_

_It’s serious stuff tho,,, you have to be confident you got this, it’s okay if you don’t we can train more_

_Like really think about this_

**_Shoulder Touch_ **

_don’t you dare go back on your word_

_i thought and i wanna do it_

**_Webhead_ **

_:)_

_**Shoulder Touch** _

_is there like a meet point? a rondey voo_

_autocorrect ain’t helping me out here_

_i guess ill wear the spiderman costume again_

_how long for? don’t you get tired_

_what if you get knocked out_

_what will my mom say if i die a vigilante_

_o god_

_what did we do last training session? pretty sure i just got amnesia_

_can’t find the costume_

_nvm i was freaking holding it the whole time_

_am i late?_

_do you get time to text during patrol or is it non stop just punching bad guys and swinging bc my dad will probably text at the worst time and if i don’t reply within 5 minutes i die_

_omg they can see where i go on google maps i think_

_data off_

_um ok_

_fcuk_

 

**_Webhead_ **

_CHILL_

_Chill!!!!_

_I’ll msg you a location when I get one so you don’t have to wait around_

_My AI picks up crime in the area_

_I’m only just out of school tho gimme a second!_

Peter’s music taste had already rubbed off on Miles, which was unsurprising given the amount of music they’d played in each other’s company. Now, **[Coming Soon](https://youtu.be/Ts15B_PoA80)**by Queen blasted from Miles’ headphones as he paced his dorm.

 

_I get some headaches when I hit the heights_

_Like in the morning after crazy nights_

_Like some mother in law in her nylon tights_

_They're always_

_Coming soon,_

_Coming soon, on the outside, of the tracks_

 

The hands Miles ran through his hair were tearing away chunks of him, or at least the old him. His universe was expanding at a rate he couldn’t have dreamed of, too fast, too much. He’d found stress somehow increased his advesivity; as if gel had materialised there, his hands ran slower through his hair, but he yanked them out distractedly.

 

_Freaking out is gonna get you nowhere._

Twisting sharply, he caught his own reflection in the dusty mirror. The cheap costume looked pretty dumb, granted, already a little torn and frayed from use and very clearly not a proper suit, but...

 

Let's just say the spider bite had brought unexpected perks to it. Like, physically. Those abs he’d so admired in Spider-Man (it was too weird to associate that with Peter just then) were now visible under the suit fabric, as well as all kinds of - other stuff - he'd never even thought about before.

_You take 'em_

_The same old babies with the same old toys,_

_The neighbours screaming when the noise annoys,_

_Somebody naggin' you when you're out with the boys_

_They're always_

_Coming soon, on the outside of the track_

It was the element of the unknown that really shredded Miles apart; there could be an incident on his doorstep within seconds, but-

 

His phone vibrated, mimicking the trembling tension running through him. There was no mistaking the way that tension amped up when he saw it was Peter who had texted him.

 

**_Webhead_ **

_9 th and 23rd, north end, joyride_

**_Shoulder Touch_ **

_omw_

This was Miles’ Moment, with a capital M. The Moment in the movies when the hero turns around and makes the decision that will make or break him. _Although it never breaks him because the hero would die and the good guys can’t win if they’re dead._

_Forget it._

 

He twisted on his heel, pulling the mask down over his curls with both hands, and strode towards the window.

 

_It’s my turn to be made._

He mused, as he took a flying leap out of the open dorm window, that the setting would be more perfect if the sun was just setting, darkness slowly sweeping across the skyline. He was stuck with a bright, burning spotlight of sun, forcing him to squint as he pressed down on the clumsy triggers of Peter’s old homemade webshooters and gripped the string of webbing that shot out. It didn’t stop him from showing off as he sailed through the midday air by somersaulting onto the nearest rooftop, though.

 

_Maybe this’ll be more fun than I thought._

 

The sun was blasting through him, a thrumming orb which banished Old Miles and branded New Miles onto that ethereal place where the soul is hidden.

 

The boy smirked as he dived into the light.

 

* * *

 

 

The problems began as soon as Miles tried to help out.

 

Just his luck.

 

Sharply rounding a street corner, he immediately spotted the flashy car roaring down the road, Peter crouched on the top in his suit and looking _insanely_ cool.

 

In a frenzy of _oh-my-God-this-is-dope_ , Miles shot like a bullet forwards using the momentum from his swing and landed, pretty deftly if he said so himself, on the trunk. Hanging off the driver’s side door, Spider-Man was a blur of action, aiming kicks and punches into the already-smashed window and in the direction of the surprisingly skilled joyrider.

 

 _“Don’t leap right in,”_ Peter had warned him in advance of the time when he’d finally get involved in stopping some real crime, ever paranoid for Miles. _“One wrong move and it gets messy. I mean, no pressure, but… yeah. Try to stick with what I say the first few times.”_

And yet the thrill of the chase was liquid adrenaline, setting him on fire.

 

The joyrider – after the event was over, it dawned on Miles that he’d never managed to get a good look at his face – reached down with a frenzied surge of motion and straightened back up, only this time wielding a pistol.

 

The blind, deaf, dumb panic that flooded Miles then sent him diving forwards, not away from the source of the danger, but _towards_ it.

 

His only thought was for Peter.

 

A stupid action, really, because Peter barely flinched as the weapon was drawn after countless experiences with them and was already planning to swiftly web it up and away from the joyrider.

 

Amidst his adrenaline surge, Miles flipped onto the windscreen of the car and waved his arms wildly to grab the criminal’s attention. This was why he never got a good look at the guy’s face; his vision was zeroed in definitively on the gun.

 

Only dimly did he register Peter’s cry of “Don’t--“

 

And, in a moment of _monumental_ stupidity, Miles yelled in the direction of the wild-eyed joyrider: “Hey, dipshit! You…”

 

_Quipping is way harder than it looks._

 

“…you picked the wrong time to try and s-“

 

A split second before the bullet embedded itself in Miles’ forehead, a violent tingling in the back of his head somehow managed to communicate to him that he should _get the hell out of the way._

 

The glass of the windscreen cracked; Miles heard the ricochet as it hit the street wall instead. Before the spider bite, he would’ve been _so dead._

 

There was no time for the shock to set in before Peter lurched in front of Miles, creating a desperate human shield, and with one swift sweep of his leg knocked the gun out of the joyrider’s hand. It clattered dully on the road behind them; the first thought that forced its way through Miles’ shock-fuddled mind was that they should probably get rid of that after this fiasco was over.

 

The car swerved to the left, almost dislodging Peter’s adhesive grip. He still had an arm looped backwards around the small of Miles’ back, gripping hard, hand trembling.

 

Steering the car had evidently slipped the criminal’s mind, because the vehicle had begun to careen across the road, heading for the pavement at a haphazard diagonal.

 

“Web him!” yelled Spider-Man, startling Miles back into action. Peter leapt over the windscreen and onto the bonnet, head whipping back and forth as he scanned the buildings around them, squinting.

 

_Okay. Web him up. That’s easy._

And sure enough, even Miles, the Screwiest of the Screwups, could manage to press down on his right webshooter and secure the criminal to his seat with his arms by his side.

 

Peter raised his voice yet again, urgently: “ _hold on!_ ”

 

Miles gaped, crouching low against the roof, as Spider-Man stretched his arms out, shot two matching strands of webbing to attach to buildings on either side of the street, and twisted his wrists around the length to hold on. With feet still planted against the bonnet, Peter leaned backwards and grunted with effort as the forward motion of the car strained against his arms and the webbing.

 

But no amount of engine power could be a match for Spider-Man’s strength; in seconds, the car ground to a halt, sparks flying from above the wheels, and Peter stumbled forward with the elastic rebound of the webbing he still gripped.

 

Miles caught him as he went, heavy breaths mirroring Peter’s, and wrapped his arms a little shakily and a _lot_ awkwardly around the older boy.

 

“Oh man,” he breathed, shame pulling his features into a pained wince.

 

Suddenly, Peter drew back, eye sockets whirring open in panic, and began to run his hands up and down Miles’ arms, over his chest and stomach, searching. “Are you… did s-something – I didn’t – I didn’t—”

 

Miles stepped slowly away, arms outstretched towards the frantic Peter. “Woah, woah. I’m fine. Not a scratch. See?” In an endearingly dorky move and an attempt to assuage the other boy’s fretting, he flashed an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

 

Peter, however, narrowed his eyes at Miles, hands hovering over him still. “You’re _sure?_ ”

 

“ _Yes._ Geez, what is it with you and- like- this _motherly_ instinct?”

 

Clearly, this was the wrong thing to say- Peter turned away, folding his arms defensively- but the frenzied way the guy had checked him for injuries had freaked him out a little.

 

Plus the whole _I-almost-got-shot_ thing, which was actually bothering him significantly less than maybe it should.

 

And yet, overwhelming every other emotion in Miles’ mind was guilt.

 

“Pet- I mean, uh, Spider-Man – oh my God, I’m so sorry. I screwed up so bad, I don’t know—"

 

Wrapped up in his own inadequacy, Miles hadn’t noticed the hand that Peter continually and jerkily swiped over his face or the tension radiating from his closed-off stance.

 

“Are you…” now was the moment when Miles could really do with some tactful words and, of course, now was also the moment when he’d forgotten how to speak.

 

_Am I missing something?_

And maybe he was. Miles felt disjointed from the universe, like he’d missed a page of the worldwide script and everyone else had already learnt their lines.

 

“You okay?”

 

Peter froze. His breath hitched. His gaze darted up to meet Miles’. He then slid off the bonnet and stood with his forehead and arms braced against the rim of the car door, dragging in deep breaths, fighting to keep his cool.

 

Eyebrows pinching together, Miles followed him there, gingerly placing a hand between Peter’s shoulder blades, and repeated his question in a low voice: “You okay?”

 

Neither shrugging off or allowing Miles’ touch, Peter again froze where he was; superpowers or not, Miles would have been able to sense the coiled-up nervous energy coursing through him. “The gun,” he breathed.

 

“What?”

 

“You… you wanna go g-g-get the- the gun?” Peter’s breath remained erratic, try as he might to bring it under control, to _snap out of it_.

 

Miles swallowed. What choice did he have?

 

_Look what you did. You freaked him out. You really set him off._

 

He feigned lightness in his tone as he responded with, “Sure thing.”

 

As he gently swung the couple hundred metres of road to retrieve the weapon, Miles couldn’t stop glancing over his shoulder to where Peter still pressed his forehead against the unforgiving metal of the car, fists tightening.

 

_Maybe it was something about the gun?_

 

“You want me to keep it?” ventured Miles when he’d returned, correctly sensing the cause of Peter’s anxiety.

 

Peter only nodded tightly in return. His fingertips dug small indents into the car rim with his stress; a small scraping sound which heralded a tear in the metal made his head snap up. And with that, he falteringly resumed his persona as Spider-Man.

 

“That was a- a close one, wasn’t it?”

 

_What is going on?_

But Miles’ all-consuming guilt was a subject he was all too happy to lament upon. “I screwed up, man. I ruined it, didn’t I?”

 

Like a switch flipping, Comforting Peter took the place of Freaked-Out Peter. “Hey, don’t think that. That was your first ever real-life crime, they don’t start out easy. If you ruined it, that car would still be running down the street, but look!”

 

It was only then, as they turned back to the car, they took notice of the criminal still web-covered and struggling inside.

 

Miles narrowed his eyes, looking to his mentor for guidance. “Do we… hand him in to the station?”

 

“Nah. Cops will be on the scene in a couple minutes.” Switching tack, he stepped in towards Miles, again asking, “Are you sure nothing hurts? It- the… you didn’t get hit?”

 

“If I had gotten hit, you’d be able to see the blood.”

 

This was evidently a tactless remark, because Peter hissed out a breath reminiscent of his earlier panic. Miles backpedalled. “No, honestly, I’m good. Ready to try again. How about you?”

 

“Fine.” Peter’s voice was flat, offhand, as if he hadn’t even registered the question.

 

_I’m not getting anything out of him._

A long silence ensued. Miles coughed. “Uh... Should we get going?”

 

Peter snapped out of his daze. “Yeah, yeah- of course.”

 

* * *

 

 

With a muffled yelp, Miles crashed to the floor. Right in the middle of an ongoing drug deal.

 

He and Peter had been crouched on the ceiling of an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town, watching the whole thing go down while Peter murmured tactics into his ear so low that only super hearing could pick it up.

 

There had been something confidential, exhilarating, about spying on the bad guys, heart in his mouth and ears picking up Peter's matching racing heartbeat, the two shoulder-to-shoulder in unified crime-fighting. Peter’s breath had been hot on his ear, the air cool and fresh in contrast.

 

But what was he thinking? When did he _not_ mess things up?

 

There was a gun trained on him before he could even draw a breath, the butt pressed painfully against the side of his face.

 

_Not again._

_Shit. Hope this doesn’t freak Peter out again._

 

“The fuck are you?” drawled the lanky woman at the end of the weapon, more confused than aggressive. Apparently, Miles wasn’t at all threatening. At this moment in time, as he trembled against the cold steel of the gun at his forehead, he wouldn’t argue.

 

His throat had stuck, allowing no words through.

 

“ _Oy!_ ” Another gun joined the one against Miles' head as the man holding it threatened him: “You better have a good reason why I shouldn’t pull the trigger, kid.”

 

Miles couldn’t risk an upward glance to look for Peter in case it gave them away; instead, he slowly, tremulously raised his arms above his head, trying to stretch out the moment as long as possible to allow Spider-Man more time.

 

Because he’d come for Miles, right?

 

He needn’t have doubted; he sensed the other boy as he dropped down from the ceiling before he heard the impact of his feet on the floor.

 

For a split second, Miles glimpsed his saviour creeping behind the gang, mechanical eye sockets expanded to the max and trained on him as if to say _“don’t move.”_

 

And then Miles blinked as Spider-Man dove in front him once again, knocking the gun from his head and stepping into a roll before the dealers knew what had hit them.

 

In a burst of clarity, Miles shot a line of web towards the second gun and yanked it out of the way.

 

Beside him, Peter faltered for a moment, unsure of what to do with the gun. The closest dealer, a henchman who’d been silent until now, took a threatening lunge towards him, upon which Peter _threw the gun into his attacker’s face._

 

The stockily-built man toppled promptly to the floor with the superhuman, panic-fuelled force of Peter’s throw.

 

In any other, less life-threatening situation, Miles would have bowled over with laughter, but with only one man down and three more still advancing towards the two teenagers, there was no time to stop and appreciate the hilarity of Peter’s move.

 

Spider-man headed straight for the woman who’d held up a gun to Miles’ head and was now unarmed. A second henchman now made a beeline for Miles and he let her make the first move as he’d been instructed by Peter their first training session, ducking her roundhouse kick, before responding with his own, surging upwards and clipping her jaw with an uppercut. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Peter had used the same technique, although his opponent had unleashed a flurry of rage matching Peter’s frantic energy.

 

_Is this what it’s like? Never knowing which heroic act will be your last?_

He’d spent long hours learning how to rein in his strength just enough to make an impact on the bad guys without harming them too much. He was glad for the practice now as he ducked and punched, dodged and kicked, lost in the dance of combat.

 

One sound fist to the side of the head, and she was down. Miles, despite all that had gone down in the last minute, couldn’t help punching the air in exultation at his own achievement.

 

This was a mistake that very nearly cost him dear.

 

It was only as Peter yelled, “He’s getting away!” that Miles snapped out of his self-absorption and whipped his head to rest his gaze on the man who’d been buying the drugs. He stooped to pick up the gun that Miles had thrown away previously along with the packets of drugs and picked up speed to sprint out of the warehouse.

 

Miles responded with a cry of, “On it!”

 

Spider-Man was still engrossed in his conflict, but it was clear to see he was winning. It would all be over in seconds, Miles assured himself as he bent his head and raced after the buyer.

 

To gain momentum, Miles caught the wall with his fingertips and bounded across the surface, horizontal, before shooting a web towards the ceiling and pushing off towards the criminal.

 

With a breath-stealing front flip, Miles was in front of his opponent, barring his exit to the warehouse. He raised his wrist to wrest the gun and drugs from his hands with webbing but wasn’t fast enough: the criminal was ready for him and pulled the trigger.

 

Miles was struck with his first experience of what Peter called the Spidey Sense, down in the subway tunnel, and how similar it was to the current circumstances: his ears could pick up the rippling of air as the incoming bullet tore its way towards him, seeking a mark; each second strung itself out into hours.

 

An incongruous sense of peace invaded him: he had all the time in the world.

 

Miles stepped out of the way, and like a vintage film reel, time spooled, crackled and restarted at a now-overwhelming pace. “Thanks for that!” he grinned, allowing himself to emit a small “zoink!” as he grabbed the items. In seconds, the buyer was helpless under a stream of webbing and secured to the floor.

 

_How was that so easy?_

_I’m officially a badass._

_Except when you fell off the ceiling onto your ass…_

_Let’s just… forget that._

 

And sure enough, it slipped his mind pretty quickly when he turned on his heel to return to Peter and saw the boy in question swaying a little on his feet with arms clutching his ribs.

 

Suddenly, the distance between them was impossibly huge. Miles bent low and sprinted. From across the room, Peter met his gaze with an unsettling vacancy to his stance.

 

“Peter?” Miles called.

 

Spider-Man remained silent, although Miles noticed how his chest heaved with every breath.

 

_Is that… maybe cracked ribs?  We didn’t cover first aid or anything, we totally missed that out, and I think now might be a good time to learn some stuff- his enhancements – he can’t get human medical care – the whole time he was worried about me and what if I have to watch him die in my arms or something?_

As soon as he met Peter, Miles, remembering the way Peter had practically frisked him earlier in his haste, gently prised the boy's hands off his ribs and replaced them with his own, trying to stop them shaking.

 

“What is it? Did she get you?”

 

But Peter seemed incapable of speaking; he gripped Miles' upper arms with breaths that were closer to gasps. The best he could manage was a tremulous shake of the head.

 

“You really-“ Miles cut himself off with a nervous laugh, caught in a desperate embrace by Peter's grip and still probing his ribs with an awkward hand. “-you really should have taught me how to deal with this.”

 

In response, Peter pulled Miles' hands away, again shaking his head.

 

_What is going on?_

 

When Peter continued to sway under his hold, Miles slowly and clumsily eased them both down to sit, Peter's back thudding against the wall as he curled into himself and Miles' knees knocking against his.

 

“Woah, woah, woah. I don’t- what do I do?”

 

At this, Peter raised trembling hands to pull his mask off. Underneath was a face flushed and pale all at once, tears cutting an iridescent track down his cheeks. His eyes sought Miles' desperately.

 

Of course, the first words he forced through an uncooperative throat were, “Are you... ok-okay?”

 

Miles shut his eyes for a second in exasperation. He pulled off his own mask, hoping Peter could draw comfort from his eye contact. “ _Yes._ I’m fine. You’re clearly not. Try and... where does it hurt?”

 

Peter shook his head. The way he breathed – or tried to breathe – was beginning to convince Miles he was going into cardiac arrest.

 

“Panic... att-attack,” rasped Peter. The effort of the words drove the final ounces of air from his chest; he crumpled into Miles, fingers bruisingly tight around the younger boy, and let out a high-pitched whine of anguish.

 

_That… what am I supposed to do about that?_

 

“Hey...” Miles was nearing as breathless as the boy who clutched at him, mind blank. Peter hadn’t inhaled in too long. _What do I do, what do I do, what do I do-_

 

But just as soon as it had begun, Peter managed to drag in a breath. Miles let one out in relief.

 

_No Heimlich manoeuvre needed today._

 

_What... what does the Heimlich manoeuvre even do?_

 

_Not. Important._

 

“Peter, you gotta let go of me a second. I’m gonna... I'll search this up...”

 

Slowly, Peter tore himself from Miles, fresh tears tracking his face and breaths coming short and fast. The apology in his eyes was achingly apparent. “It's okay, it’s okay,” responded Miles; the words were for him as much as Peter.

 

In the absence of Miles to hold onto, Peter slid backwards against the cracked wall and wrapped his hands around his biceps, head dipping in shame.

 

Miles bit back a string of curses as the signal wavered and his phone failed twice to load up his clumsy search of ‘ _how to deAl ith panic atsacsk_ ’.

 

_Don’t fail me now, WikiHow._

In between wheezes, Peter mumbled, “Oh God- don’t throw up, don’t throw up- _sh-shit_ … ow…”

 

“Okay, okay,” stalled Miles as the link _finally_ decided to show up and he scrolled downwards with trembling fingers. “It says- damn it, buffer- grounding? Is that… oh. So- what are five things you can see?”

 

_Come on, Miles. Get it together. You're supposed to be relaxing him, not interrogating him._

But Peter obliged him, eyes glazed and darting. “The- the sun. There.”

 

Although it pained him to see his hero break down in front of him, Miles kept his eyes on the hyperventilating Peter, hoping it would ground him more.

 

_Whatever grounding even is._

_Damn, I’ve gotta clue up on this stuff._

“Webs.” Despite himself, Peter chuckled half-heartedly: “’bunch of c-criminals.”

 

Miles nodded, biting his lip subconsciously.

 

“The warehouse…”

 

Without warning, Peter flung himself back around Miles with a sob.

 

_Did something else happen?_

“Sorry.” The words were choked, muffled by Miles’ shoulder, as Peter began to shiver.

 

“Alright, it’s all good.” It most certainly was _not_ all good. “Why are- are you cold?”

 

A shrug from Peter. Miles responded by hesitantly rubbing his hands up and down the other boy’s arms in a rhythmic motion. The touch seemed to calm Peter, who sank into the embrace with a shudder. Miles tried not to think about how closely he was currently entwined with the other boy.

 

“One more thing, right?” prompted Miles when Peter remained silent against his chest. He hoped Peter couldn’t feel how his heart hammered in his chest.

 

“You.”

 

“Nice.” Freeing one of his arms from the tight embrace, Miles held his phone above Peter’s heaving back and read from the article. “Four things you can hear.”

 

“Your heart.”

 

_Well._

“The wind. Someone’s phone ringing a couple… a couple blocks away. The webbing particles s-s-settling. _My_ heart. Music playing in the dance studio we passed on- on the way here. Something buzzing- a bug? My… is that enough?”

 

As he’d rambled, the shivering and shaking that had been freaking Miles out had gradually begun to subside, his stammering decreasing and breaths lengthening just slightly.

 

Miles swallowed. Peter was _really_ close.

 

_Remember what I said earlier? About this not being important?_

 

 “Think so. You’re good.”

 

“Now what?”

 

“Three things you can feel…”

 

“You. The floor. My suit.”

 

“Two things you can…”

 

“Your…”

 

“One thing…”

 

“That’s it. We… now we’ve done grounding. We’re- we’re officially grounded.”

 

With a long _whoosh_ , Peter expelled a breath that sounded considerably less shaky and slumped against Miles’ chest a little uncomfortably. The sharp angle of his cheekbone pressed into the area just below Miles' collarbone, rising and falling gently with Miles’ breath.

 

_Did I just do that?_

 

Miles was unaware he’d spoken this aloud until Peter laughed breathily and hummed in confirmation.

 

Tear tracks were still visible down Peter’s flushed face. With a sigh of aggravation, he began to speak. “Miles… I’m useless, I’m so sorry.”

 

Miles cocked his head and drew back out of the embrace, hands still circling Peter’s upper arms, to eye him. “Are you serious? Did you even _see_ me back there? I’m the dumbest damsel in distress you ever saw. And I’m supposed to be saving people’s asses, not getting my own saved. So _I’m_ totally the useless one.”  


“Y’know, it’s not a competition,” chuckled Peter weakly. “Seriously, I’m- I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have put you in danger, I should’ve thought… I never _think_.”

 

This was enough to make Miles scoff. “Give yourself a little credit. You gave me fair warning. I chose this.” His eyeline combed the mussed sweep of Peter’s hair and caught the discarded gun lying a good few feet away. “Did… did something happen? With a gun?”

 

Peter seemed caught off-guard by this question; his voice began to waver. “I- uh… yeah. It’s- it’s - maybe another time?”

 

“Oh. Yeah, yeah - of course.”

 

_Bad move. Bad move._

 

“I guess I didn’t figure seeing you with… like that… would, you know, set me off. It’s just…” Peter swiped a bashful hand over his face. “Flashbacks.”

 

Miles cocked his head, trying to divine the inner workings of the other teenager. “Does it normally bother you this much?”

 

All at once, the older boy changed tack, gesturing towards Miles. “Sorry. I made it all about me – you’re the one it actually happened to-“

 

“Hey, it’s fine. I’m… weirdly not bothered by it. More by _you_ , man. But I think I understand. That thing that happened… you were scared it would happen again?”

 

Peter swallowed. “Basically.”

 

With an exhale of relief, Miles laughed softly, shoving Peter back gently. “Gotta say, you scared the shit out of me.”

 

“ _You_ scared the shit out of _me_!” Peter’s voice pitched upwards in protest.

 

Miles turned on the sarcasm. “Sorry about that. I’ll try harder not to get almost-shot in the future.”

 

“I know, I know, it’s not your fault.”

 

With an awkward shuffle of limbs, Miles addressed the subject he’d been dreading bringing up for, like, at least two minutes. “Seriously, though, what are we gonna do about this? Should I- should I just quit? Or go back to training so I don’t make dumb mistakes?”

 

But Peter shook his head vehemently, catching meaningful eye contact with Miles as he replied. “You can’t give up now. Did you see yourself out there? You were amazing. I wasn’t half as good on my first patrol. I really _was_ useless. You… you’ve got awesome instincts.”

 

This remark drew a blush from him and a nervous laugh from Peter.

 

“Then how can we fix this?”

 

* * *

 

 

“This alright?”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

Miles stood in the centre of the warehouse, hands wrapped firmly around the handle of the downturned pistol; Peter stood opposite him, hands hovering over the weapon.

 

“Can you…” Miles coughed. _Please don’t make him take this the wrong way…_ “Put your hands over mine?”

 

Peter obliged, fingers warm over Miles’ own digits, and Miles ducked his head to hide his stupid blushing.

 

“This is fine. I think- I think I could hold it myself.”

 

“Okay- nice!” Miles managed to untangle his hands from Peter’s so the older boy was holding the gun by himself.

 

_This is… really easy._

 

He took it back and slowly raised it towards his temples, keeping eye contact with Peter. “Now I’ll try pointing it at myself if that’s al-“

 

Peter balked. “Wait, wait, wait, is the safety on?”

 

“Sure is. Look.” In response, Miles clicked the safety off and on again.

 

“Do you know how to hold it?”

 

Miles watched Peter’s eyes blossom with brewing panic and attempted to comfort him: “I’ve done this before.”

 

Peter’s reply was a reluctant “Okay.”

 

“Do you need a minute?”

 

“Fine, it’s fine.” Waving his hands about, Peter motioned for Miles to continue, but his tense stance told a different story.

 

“Doesn’t sound like it.” With that, Miles again lowered the gun to face the floor, a little hesitant himself.

 

Peter dragged a gloved hand down his face in resignation. “Sorry.”

 

“We can try again some other time. It’s gotta get better at some point.” Miles offered Peter a smile.

 

“Yeah, of course.”

 

“In the meantime, I need to practice sticking better. And quipping. How do you… just do it on the spot?”

 

Peter laughed. It was music to Miles’ ears.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Miles was screwed. His screwed-ometer reading was off the charts. He should’ve gotten the World Record for Most Screwed Guy. He. Was-

 

“I have a presentation, a group project, two essays, and at least four assignments, all for next week - how is that even allowed?"

 

_“Woah. How did that happen?”_

“I got enrolled in Brooklyn Visions Academy. _That’s_ how it happened.”

 

_“No- like, your timetable, or whatever you use? How busy were-“_

 

“My _what?”_

_“…you don’t have a study timetable – or a club – or a schedule – or anything – and you’re at Brooklyn Visions?”_

 

“Okay. I think we’re on the wrong page here. Are you one of those people that actually organise themselves and do homework the day it gets handed to them?”

 

_“If I wasn’t, I would not be alive to help you right now.”_

 

“I _need_ help.”

 

_“Give me a quarter hour.”_

* * *

 

 

Miles jumped out of his skin as his Spider-sense lit up. At once, he was up and forming a clumsy fighting stance facing the door, blinking past the alarm bells overriding his mind.

 

_What the..._

But evidently, his Spider-sense had some honing still to do, because the intruder arrived not through the door but the window, landing on the glass with a thud.

 

Miles shrieked, stumbling around.

 

Spider-Man waved a little sheepishly at him.

 

“ _Peter_ ,” mumbled Miles, pushing out a breath punctuated by a laugh of exasperation.

 

Sure enough, as he pushed open the window, Peter pulled off his mask and landed without a sound on the floor of his dorm room.

 

Nothing could negate the joy of seeing Spider-Man in his room, even the fact that he knew Peter or the staggering bundle of notes, books and cue cards he carried, some in a plastic bag, some bound together by a single strand of webbing which he promptly tore apart to allow the paper to spill across Miles' bed.

 

“Thanks for coming over to h– how many notes did you _bring_?”

 

Peter dropped his mask on the floor carelessly; his pitch peaked defensively as he replied: “AP subjects cover a lot of content!”

 

Before Miles could scoff at the frankly _incredible_ organisation of this guy, Peter had already dived for a stack of textbooks, busily scanning the spines for the correct titles and biting his lip in regret. “I forgot the English book... That wasn’t important, was it?”

 

He seemed genuinely pained by the mistake; Miles couldn’t help but smile endearingly as he shook his head. “It’s _fine_. It’s... I’m just glad you’re here at all. So... What comes first?”

 

Just short of cracking his knuckles in preparation, Peter clapped his hands together. “Well. First, before you try and do anything, you gotta write a list.”

 

“A…”

 

“List, yeah. Of all the things you gotta do. Then you know which things to prioritize.”

 

Miles nodded rapidly, eager to learn from the master. “That makes too much sense.”

 

The to-do list was just a few minutes in the making, the two boys crouched on the dorm room floor. Miles marvelled at the rapid blooming of notes beneath Peter’s still-gloved hand.

 

“Right, here’s everything you need to do. Where do you wanna start?”

 

Miles tapped a bullet point. “The Science presentation. It’s due for tomorrow.” The realisation of his workload hit him all at once: “Oh God.”

 

But Peter was undeterred, twirling the pen around his fingers. “What’s it on?”

 

“Biological functions of… polymers?”

 

Peter’s head twisted to look at Miles. “Perfect!”

 

“Why perfect?”

 

Springing up to a standing position, Peter pressed lightly on the webshooter at his wrist and caught the cartridge as it popped out. “Ever wondered what the webbing’s made out of?”

 

With this, he tossed the cartridge towards Miles, who caught it in a fisted hand before he even registered the movement.

 

He glanced down at the compressed, translucent substance, and then jumped up to meet Peter’s eyes.

 

“Polymer.”

 

Peter smiled, enthusiasm lighting up expanded pupils, and Miles mirrored the expression.

 

Miles struggled to rationalise a coherent train of thought with the information he had. “That would explain the…”

 

“Tensile strength,” finished Peter, holding a finger in the air.

 

“Let’s go for a PowerPoint. Classic. With cue cards?”

 

“I can tell you everything about how the webbing works, the suit, the whole of it.”

 

“Alright, I’ll load up the laptop and--“

 

Peter cut in, stance suddenly awkward. “Hey – could I… change out of this first?” He indicated the tight-fitting suit, and _oh my God those pecs - what the_ fuck, _Miles? -_ “This suit gets a – a bit much, sometimes.”

 

Miles tore his gaze away from the suit with an awkward half-cough, half-choke, and gestured clumsily to his right. “Um- sure. Bathroom’s along there.”

 

As Peter ducked out of the lamp-lit room, Miles allowed gravity to pull him down onto his bed, where he shoved his face into his pillow and groaned.

 

_Could you stop thinking about his muscles for two seconds? Chill with the gay thoughts!_

It took Peter all of thirty seconds to change into regular clothes. Miles started up from his face-down position on the bed and was struck with the realisation that he’d only ever seen Peter in the suit before, never in his own clothes. This might not have been such a jarring realisation if Peter hadn’t been wearing a washed-out T-shirt with _Gravity, thou art a heartless bitch_ emblazoned across the chest, a borderline moth-eaten plaid shirt that Miles couldn’t divine the exact shade of, a pair of jeans that were ripped but probably not intentionally, and mud-caked New Balances.

_New Balances? Seriously?_

_New Balances._

Miles raised his eyebrows. “Oh my God, what awful family member made you wear those?”

 

Peter folded his arms defensively; his voice was small. “…me?”

 

“Oh _man_ , you need some help, Peter.” Miles covered his eyes with a hand to shield from the sight.

 

“Hey!”

 

“Admit it. You need a full - style – re - vamp.” Grown bold now, Miles approached Peter and gestured to different items of clothing for emphasis on each syllable.  “I accept responsibility for your makeover. We can’t have Spider-Man walking around looking like that.”

 

Peter had drawn inside himself; he found an unusual interest in the floor as he replied: “I don’t really… I c-can’t afford that.”

 

_Oh._

 

Miles bit the inside of his lip. His tendency to run with things before rational thought could rein him back in was particularly prevalent around Peter.

 

_C’mon, Miles, you’re always the one with the big ideas, make him feel better!_

Truth was, seeing Peter’s downcast face touched on the same raw nerve as when he’d watched the week before as he fell apart in Miles’ arms, and Miles didn’t know if he could deal with witnessing that again.

 

He waved his hands about vaguely. “My Uncle Aaron has tons and tons of old clothes hanging around, we could repurpose those… and I can beg some cash off my parents pretty easily… so it’s simple!”

 

Peter’s smirk was at least partially genuine; that was enough for Miles. “Wow, you really hate my style, don’t you? I have a feeling I’m not gonna be a fan of yours…”

 

_He really won’t._

“Won’t know until you try!”

 

“You really… you’re okay with paying for it?” Peter, once again, avoided Miles’ eye.

 

“It’s nothing.” _If it makes you happier._

 

“Okay. Okay. Sure. Thank you.”

 

The _gratitude_ on Peter’s face astounded Miles.

 

A silence stretched between them for a good few seconds before Miles prompted. “So… the presentation? Where do we start?”

 

“Oh!” Peter tapped the side of his head and spun haphazardly on his heel to unearth a stack of notes on polymers.

 

Miles couldn’t help but grin. “Scatterbrain.”

 

Peter feigned offence: “I thought you wanted my help!”

 

“Oh, I do. _Please._ ” Miles tried the puppy eyes, clasping his hands and gazing up at Peter.

 

But Peter was crafty. “Only if _I_ get to style _you_ after you’ve done me.”

 

“ _Ugh._ Deal.”

 

“Oy!”

 

Miles laughed; Peter was quick to follow.

 

* * *

 

 

_A long long time ago_

_I can still remember how that music used to make me smile_

_And I knew if I had my chance that I could make those people dance_

_And maybe they’d be happy for a while_

_I can’t remember if I cried when I read about his widowed bride_

_But something touched me deep inside-_

“Does this get any less depressing later?” complained Miles of the song, [American Pie](https://youtu.be/7yHTpGog0IY), which was currently playing softly from Miles’ laptop. Peter had commandeered the music, which was the norm in or out of the training room, it seemed, and kept his eyes closed for the first verse, a faint and indulgent smile softening his face. He lay sprawled on Miles’ bed; Miles himself was seated at the desk.

 

Peter only hummed in response. He was unguarded with his eyes shut, allowing Miles to look as much as he wanted, but something about the peace of the moment he was lost in kept Miles from staring. But he couldn’t miss the way Peter’s hair fanned gently out on his pillow, a few strands seeming suspended as if too sacred to touch the ground.

 

Peter bolted up as the pace of the song suddenly picked up and sung along to the tune.

 

_Did you write the book of love?_

_And do you have faith in God above?_

_If the Bible tells you so…._

Miles joined him, swept up in the frenzy of music, and Peter pointed dramatically at him as he continued.

 

_And do you believe in rock and roll?_

_Can music save your mortal soul?_

_And can you teach me how to dance real slow?_

At this, he took Miles’ hand and danced a few clumsy steps with him; the singing was closer to laughter now.

_Well I know that you’re in love with him_

_‘Cause I saw you dancing in the gym_

 

_I was a lonely teenage broncin’ buck_

_With a pink carnation and a pickup truck…_

They could have danced for hours longer with their matching enhanced stamina, but some instinct ingrained in their past equilibrium pulled them both down to flop side-by-side on the bed.

 

“So that’s why this is your favourite song.”

 

The smile Peter flashed at Miles was full of youth and expectation.

 

He obliged, meeting the deep brown pools of Peter’s eyes. “I like it.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

With a pulling together of his eyebrows, Miles witnessed, out of the corner of his eye, Peter scrolling through blurry Google images of Spider-Man on his phone.

 

“Google?” he snickered. “Really?”

 

“It’s for pictures,” Peter replied absent-mindedly.

 

“Of yourself?”

 

Peter turned his attention to Miles now, raising his voice in indignation. “Yes, of myself!”

 

“You’re Googling pictures of yourself.” Interest peaked, Miles pulled up his own Google tab and typed _spiderman_ into the search bar.

 

“You think I just keep Spider-Man selfies on my phone? I wouldn’t have a secret identity by now if I was that dumb.”

 

It struck Miles that the teenager in front of him currently Googling himself and twirling a lock of hair around his finger after having swung all the way from Queens with a stack of notes and climbed through his window – _to help me_ – probably _was_ that dumb.

 

“Right, sure.” But Miles’ mind had already moved on. “Hey… thanks so much for helping me out, by the way.”

 

“No problem.”

 

With a sigh of frustration, Miles dropped his head down to rest on the desk. “I kinda freaked out when I called you.” He glimpsed Peter’s head tilting on its side in concern and to discern his own facial expression. “Do you ever feel like… like if you don’t…”

 

“…like the world’s gonna end if you don’t finish that presentation for tomorrow?”

 

“Yeah. Exactly. They expect so much of everyone at Visions, which is fine for everyone else who has their shit together – like you – everyone except me.”

 

Peter huffed a laugh of incredulity. “Bold of you to assume I have my shit together in the slightest.”

 

“Well, it sure looks like it.”

 

“You’d be surprised.” Miles heard rather than saw the pass Peter’s hand made across his face. Subtle, yet revealing.

 

Miles hadn’t factored in the… _thing_ in the warehouse into his evaluation of how put-together Peter was. He seemed both a picture of an A+ student and a whirligig of panicked chaos.

 

But now the subject had been brought to light, he brought his head upwards again to meet Peter’s eye and blurted out a question: “So, uh – are you alright? After what happened on patrol?”

 

Miles’ fingers still burned with the memory of encircling a shaking back, running up and down arms brimming over with tension, clumsily typing in a Google solution to a problem that Google alone could never solve.

 

To his credit, Peter didn’t seem too bothered by the subject, barely flinching. He thrust his hands between his thighs. “It’s – they’re really not that regular. The panic attacks. I’m getting it looked at anyway. Mister Stark knows great therapists. So… yeah, I’m alright. And… won’t ever be able to repay you for helping me out in the warehouse.”

 

Miles shook his head. “Don’t even think about it. Should we just… put it in the past?”

 

“That’s what my therapist says,” Peter chuckled. “Did you feel like… it got harder to function in school after the spider bite?”

 

“I never thought about it like that.”

 

_That makes sense. Too much sense._

The searching eyes. The sweat. The deafening whispers. Agonising squeaks of polished uniform shoes. Every dust mite drifting across the projector disrupting his focus.

 

“Yes. Totally.”

 

“Senses dialled to eleven?”

 

Miles replied with an emphatic nod. At that moment, he understood Peter Parker more deeply than ever before.

 

“Well, at least – at least I’m not alone in that anymore.” Peter laughed, self-deprecating, before his eyes widened and he frantically backpedalled. “I mean, I’m sorry this had to happen to you. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

 

Miles raised an eyebrow. He spun round on the wheels of his desk chair, irises lightening, to address Peter vehemently. “Are you kidding? This is - scary, sometimes, yes – but also probably the most awesome thing that’s ever happened to me.”

 

Something dark shifted in Peter’s own eyes; they flickered down and away from Miles, who persisted nonetheless. “But I do have – some questions – about, uh…”

 

_How do I put this in the least awkward way?_

“I’m – uh - super ripped now.”

_I said least awkward, not most!_

Peter balked into a fit of stammering, curling a hand around his own ridiculously prominent bicep. “Y-y-yeah. That – just… just happens.”

 

Miles swallowed, the sound painfully loud to his super hearing. “What do I, like, _do_?”

 

“Well…” Peter’s gaze was fixed firmly on the floor. “I didn’t know you before you got bitten, so I don’t know – what- what you – how… b-but for me, it was a _big_ change. So, obviously, I couldn’t just walk into school like – you know – and then, the next day…”

 

Sheepishly, Peter indicated himself.

 

The amount of stammering in this exchange was _obscene_.

 

When Miles spoke, his voice was pitifully small. “Kinda disappointing to get so buff and not be able to… I don’t know, show it off, or anything.”

 

“It’s not anything to be ashamed of – you know that, right?”

 

Something in Peter’s drawn-in jaw spoke of a need to comfort, to praise, to make it alright.

 

And although something in Miles stretched out for it, he was scared.

 

“Yeah, yeah. We’d better get back to the presentation!”

 

Peter reluctantly took the hint. “I’ll test you. Try it without the cue cards.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Good afternoon. I’m Miles, and for my presentation on biological functions of polymers, I’d like to…”

 

“…Contrary to popular belief, the webs are not a biological extension of Spider-Man’s body but…”

 

“…Compressed, low density…”

 

“…Has a remarkably high tensile strength, allowing Spider-Man to…”

 

“…Now, I don’t want to give away all of the guy’s secrets, but I _will_ …”

 

“…And that concludes my presentation.”

 

Peter, who had been scrutinising him, Miles’ flash cards in his hands, with his legs drawn up in front of him to rest his chin on, promptly threw them into the trash can. “Word-perfect. You don’t need these. That was awesome!”

 

Miles smiled widely, elated and about to crash from lack of sleep. “Really?”

 

“Uh huh. We’re done here.”

 

With a concerning creak of the bed support, Miles flopped down to sit at Peter’s side, blinking.

 

Imperceptibly, Peter shifted away.

 

Miles seemed oblivious to this signal. Instead, in a move so audacious he never would have attempted it had he not been half-conscious, he let his face burrow into Peter’s shoulder.

 

Peter stiffened, hands fluttering at his sides. “Miles?” he ventured after a pause.

 

“I’m tired, man,” was Miles’s muffled response.

 

Miles lifted a sluggish hand to rub at his eyes but, finding his face was still smashed into the crook of Peter’s neck, he let it fall, the hand sliding down the small of Peter’s back and resting, to Peter’s horror, on his-

 

“ _Okay,_ I really gotta go. It’s super late.” With a jolt, Peter shook the sleepy Miles off him and took a jittery step away.

 

Miles only hummed happily as he slumped down to lie on the bed. “See ya, Pet’r.”

 

Peter positioned himself so he was facing Miles, ass turned decisively away from the other boy, to retrieve his stacks of notes.

 

While Fully-Awake Miles would have been mortified at his behaviour, Incoherent Miles was blissfully unaware.

 

Peter blew out a breath, nervous in a way he’d never felt before in front of the boy. “Bye, Miles.”

 

* * *

 

 

“…And that concludes my presentation. Thank you for listening.”

 

A chorus of mostly enthusiastic applause followed close behind Miles. Surveying the faces regarding him, he spotted a few rolling their eyes or gazing out of the window in boredom, but an overwhelming majority of impressed nods and nerdy grins.

 

The teacher cut through the applause, seeming taken aback. “That was… phenomenal, Miles.”

 

Miles glowed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.  
> Life is busier than ever, and I have no idea how other authors do it. As much as I adore writing, I have school, school and more school and I have to prioritise it. Therefore, I can't give a release date for the next chapter (which I have begun writing! But may not finish for a while) so I'm sorry to disappoint. Hope this one is a good one!  
> \- 'Doisy the Destroyer'

**Author's Note:**

> Self-projection? Never heard of her  
> Once again, I can't thank you all enough for the overwhelming support on all my work, particularly the 12 Hugs of Christmas. You're the best!  
> Peace outtt  
> Doisy the Destroyer x


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